


Walking Him Down The Aisle

by skaylin



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pon Farr, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaylin/pseuds/skaylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assumption worked its way into this story to justify the presence of Dr.McCoy in it. Pon farr with Bones’ participation. Not in the sense you might think of, strictly in the medical sense.</p><p>This is a translation of a Russian story by <b>Matti</b>. With thanks to ForgottenOne for betaing the English version. The original can be found here: http://never-parted.diary.ru/p76771835.htm</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Him Down The Aisle

Doctor McCoy was trying to hypnotize the medical computer terminal with his stare. He had checked the green blood test results again. And again.

_Damn! It didn’t work! I should tell Jim._ _And him._

Not trusting the intercom with the news, McCoy jumped out of sickbay, heading for the bridge, and bumped face-to-face into “him” – the first officer of the Enterprise. Commander Spock didn’t normally frequent the sickbay on his own volition. Although, this time the Vulcan’s appearance left few doubts that he was feeling far from normal. He was slouching far more than usual, arms folded so tightly that the clutched fingers were quivering with tension. The first officer’s skin had acquired a green tint unhealthy even for a Vulcan, and McCoy, who got the honor of seeing Spock very close, felt the heat radiating off him. The commander managed to sound like his habitually non-emotional self, which obviously wasn’t easy; he barely spoke through clenched teeth.

“I suppose, Doctor, your haste and confusion at my appearance mean that I have identified the symptoms correctly. In this case, I do not require medical help. I respectfully request that you inform Captain Kirk that I am obliged to step down as First Officer of the Enterprise.”

The Vulcan turned and unhesitatingly strode towards the crew’s quarters.

_So, the hobgoblin took it into his head to say goodbye through me?_ _Hell no!_

McCoy dashed back to Sickbay, gripped a hypo, shoved an ampule into it with a practiced movement and covered the distance to the  First Officer in leaps, giving him a triple tranquilizer shot right into… well, where he managed it. Not expecting such a treacherous assault, the Vulcan gripped his ass and clumsily fell onto his side. Spock’s face froze in an expression of surprise.

McCoy was truly surprised with himself, as soon as he had time to make sense of what had happened.

_I’ll be damned!_

Having assured that no one had seen the incident, the doctor dragged his victim with an effort into a luckily empty sickbay.

_Jim!_

After having made the unconscious Vulcan comfortable, McCoy turned on the intercom and called the bridge:

“I need you in Sickbay, Captain.”

“What’s the problem, Doctor?”

“Spock. He… fainted.”

“…”

“…”

“What’s wrong with him?”

In Sickbay, the doctor stalled in front of the entrance, not letting the worried Captain past the door.

”Jim… I’m sorry to say this, but there’s no error. Yes, after that wedding nightmare of his he’d got better, but it turned out to be a temporary remission. I hoped that he was simply exhausted, but… blood biochemistry disorders, hormonal imbalance… it has started all over again. Perhaps it’s a flaw in his hybrid genetics - who knows?”

“You said he fainted. Why is that?”

“I-i… immobilized him.”

“What?”

“I gave him a triple tranquilizer hypo and secured him to the bed.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jim dashed into the sickbay and stared at his First Officer, spread-eagled and securely buckled.

McCoy put his hands akimbo and determinedly held his captain’s gaze.

“What do you mean ‘what’? He was going to leave, and we wouldn’t pick him out of his quarters before he was dead. As long as I’m CMO here, I won’t allow that.”

“Well, I’m the captain here, while I’m here, he’s not going anywhere. Unbuckle him, now.”

The Captain and the CMO’s staring contest was interrupted by the sound of a low voice.

“It’s all right, captain. It is a necessary precaution.”

“Mr. Spock? How are you feeling?” Kirk bent over the bed, peering into Spock's face. The Vulcan averted his eyes.

“I am… sorry. Your sacrifice turned out to be in vain.”

“No, it didn’t. Right afterward you got better, McCoy took a blood test from you, remember? He will determine what exactly caused the symptoms to go away - secretion of some gland, or something. Whatever it is, he’ll synthesize it, and you’ll be alright.”

“You still do not understand, Captain. That will not be enough.” Spock was already visibly irritated, but yet in control of himself.

“In that case, we’ll go back to Vulcan.”

“No! I insist this decision is mine and mine only to make. I resign from my post and request you to grant me permission to stay in solitude in my quarters. I strongly recommend you to lock the door from outside, so that I will not pose any danger to the… crew.”

Jim went back to his official, commanding tone.

“You are not responsible for your actions now, Spock. I do not accept your resignation. Consider yourself on a medical leave. You understand?”

To the doctor, Jim’s certainty seemed totally premature, but, however unbelievable it was, the doomed resignation in Spock’s eyes cleared up a bit. Jim obviously wavered his resolve to die and was determined to continue in the same manner.

“Do you realize you owe me, Spock? Because you almost killed me?”

The question was unexpected for a Vulcan, but, after a minute of contemplation, he managed to reply, “I… assume total responsibility for what happened… Sir.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. As you’re going to die here, I won’t get any other chance to be repaid.  So, I want to collect my debt in the form of truthful answers to my questions. Intimate, forbidden and improper.”

With neither a consent nor a refusal, Jim continued, “This… woman still has that power over you? T’Pring?”

A few seconds of tense silence were finally followed by an answer. “No.”

“Then, what exactly are you feeling now? Is there someone this desire is directed at? Anyone in particular?”

All this time, McCoy was busy portraying a statue near a wall. This scene definitely was becoming too personal, but no one asked him to leave and the doctor considered that he, as a medic, might need to be hearing these “honest answers”.

_That grimace is a definite “Yes”. But Jim won’t stop at that._

And Jim didn’t.

“Someone on Vulcan? No? On Earth? … One of the girls on the ship? Christine? Nyota?”

The last “No” of the Vulcan didn’t come out as an emotionless voicing of a fact, but was filled with such anguish that the doctor was ready to ask Jim to stop this torture.

“But it’s someone here, on the ship, right?”

Suddenly the gaze with which the Vulcan devoured Jim became absolutely clear to the doctor.

_Oh, let it be not what I’m thinking! Anything but this!_

Jim Kirk obviously got the same thought.

“Me? Me, Spock?!”

Neither the captain nor the doctor was expecting what happened next.

The Vulcan groaned aloud, straining the belts holding his hands to turn his face to the wall.

_Poor green-blooded bastard._

Jim Kirk froze near his friend’s bed, as if hit on the head.

 “...Spock… Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

McCoy couldn’t bear it anymore and shoved the captain to his office, closing the door to let Spock regain some semblance of control.

“Jim, what are you thinking? How he could admit it to himself, and more than that, to you? A fit of uncontrolled desire… toward the only friend he has?”

“Oh, yes… Loss of freedom of choice, loss of his will, reason, control, dignity. The risk to lose…”

Jim fell silent. Suddenly, the tension left him. Captain Kirk was again composed and almost cheerful. The doctor knew this look on his friend.

_He’s preparing… for a fight._

“Will you lie for him, Bones?”

McCoy froze in a vain attempt to grasp the idea which formed in the captain’s mind.

“Will you lie for me, for us both?”

“What exactly are you asking, Jim?”

“An isolation ward. For me and for him. Right now. Medical leave for a… day. … No, two days. And an entry in your medical log, convincing enough for Starfleet Headquarters, to prevent the consequences for either of us.”

“To prevent the consequences? What about the consequences that you’re inflicting upon yourself?! How can you… how can he… if it gets known…”

“So keep it from getting known. It’s about his life and you understand this. You’re a doctor, Bones. Save him another way, if you can.”

“Damn… Damn, Jim! Okay, I’ll… send away Christine. Medical isolation… all three of us were on Vulcan… yes, I’ll… come up with something… But, are you sure he’ll agree to this? That you’re… suitable? That it’s acceptable for him?”

“I won’t leave him a choice. He’s dying. If sex aids production of some damned biochemical substance, I’ll help him survive. If he needs to join with someone and  share this horror - I’ll share it with him, it’s my right. … Give us ten minutes. I have to get through to him. I can’t let it be… rape. …Damn you’re right, I’m the rapist here. He spoke his will clearly - he wishes to die. I just can’t allow him that.”

Perhaps for the first time in his life McCoy found himself short of an answer. Jim briefly talked to Mr. Scott, giving him the conn and promising him that the CMO will provide him with the details later.

_Which said CMO had yet to make up!_

Kirk went back to the Vulcan’s ward, and the doctor was still sitting in a daze. Yes, the green-blooded hobgoblin with his irritating logic had proved his decision to die. No, the CMO wasn’t going to put up with that anyway. Yes, saving the Vulcan somehow seemed James Kirk’s sacred right. So, all that led them to… this talk. The doctor didn’t realize at once that Jim’s quiet voice sounded not in his imagination, but through the comm connecting his office to the sickbay dorm, which McCoy, out of caution, had been keeping on all this time.

“Spock, listen to me. If you hear something you do not agree with or if I do something you don’t want - stop me, will you?”

The motion at the monitor screen showed the doctor that he hadn’t considered turning off the video. Now, he simply wasn’t able to move.

The Captain’s plea made the Vulcan turn to him. He locked his eyes with Kirk and not once moved them away.

”You and Bones are the closest people to me, Spock. Answer me, who’s the closest person to you? …Well?”

“...You, ca… ptain.”

“Jim, ok? That’s why you let me drag you into dangerous, ‘illogical’ situations, cover certain... violations of the Fleet’s directives? That’s why you not only once risked your life for me, but many times?”

“That… was logical. You are my captain and… my friend.”

“As well are you are mine. I won’t forgive myself if I don’t try to save you. Because I need you. Alive. By my side. Close to me. Do you hear me? You allow me to touch you. Only me, right? Will you allow me now?”

Jim put his hand on Spock’s cheek and determinedly moved his hand down, crumpling the shirt. He stopped the movement below the heart, and next, on his lower belly.

“Now I’ll free you and you stay here. With me. Do you agree?”

Without waiting for consent, Kirk started to undo the fastenings which held the Vulcan. Spock convulsively clutched the coverlet he lay on, as if trying to hold on to the shackles.

“Jim, no. Please, leave me the right… to not accept your… sacrifice.”

“Ok then, to hell with the sacrifice. What about accepting what I want? What we both want?”

Jim threw away the buckle and firmly took the Vulcan’s hand. Bit by bit, the anguish in Spock’s eyes was replaced by a different feeling - part fear, part anticipation. As seconds passed, the fear visibly dissipated and the anticipation grew.

Spock was silent. To accept the inevitable, it was enough for Doctor McCoy to see how these two looked at each other. It was as if nothing could stand in the way of those gazes and break the wordless exchange.

_Jim has already decided everything. Damned madman. As for the hobgoblin, that highly praised logical mind of his hardly has any say here. It all comes to the green goo boiling in his veins._

So he, McCoy, could do precisely nothing. He couldn't even say aloud all those things he was thinking, because he was not able to offer any alternative for this madness. No other way to save the Vulcan’s life.

It was evident that Spock practically gave in, but he was far from content about it - the Vulcan’s voice sounded almost angry: “Jim, this… is not a purely physiological process. You seem to underestimate the real danger of an uncontrolled mental joining.”

“What do you mean - uncontrolled?”

Jim, undoing the buckles on the Vulcan’s legs, touched his ankle and it was enough to make Spock shudder. Only in several seconds did he come to his senses enough to reply: “This state resembles a trance. With total immersion into each other... total unity.”

“You mean, no lunch breaks.”

“Right. More than that… I will be unable to control the cessation of the joining. This is the function of…”

“I see, the function of a woman. I mean, the one who isn’t totally out of his mind. So you cannot count on me here.”

“Jim, your gender is not of any importance in this context. You are not a telepath and you have not undergone proper training.”

“Oh. So, you may not… come to yourself… ever? What about interracial or homosexual marriages?”

“In cases where the probability of complications is very high, the process is controlled by the couples’ clan members.”

“Are you... serious? Parents watching the… um…”

“No, not parents. It is usually one of the clan elders - an individual who does not share a familial bond with the couple, one who is not burdened by the hormonal cycle anymore.”

“Yes, elders are not exactly an abundance here at the moment… Well… for lack of those, there’s only one candidate left…”

“No.” Spock’s voice was at its utmost forbidding.

“No-o…” At this very moment McCoy recoiled from the screen in horror, shaking his head viciously. “This… no!” The doctor hysterically jerked to check if his side of the voice connection was off. In a moment, he powerlessly slumped in an armchair, closing his face with his hands.

Jim’s voice continued its soft persuasion.

“What choice do we have? Die in one day, specifically, tomorrow? Bones is a medic, and a great one. He’s a doctor of the kind who does everything in his power to save a life, acting under strict medical confidentiality. More than that, he’s a real friend both to me and to you, whatever your thoughts on that matter are.”

_Oh…_

Meanwhile, Jim wasn’t lessening his assault: “Do you know something about these ‘controlled cases’? What is the procedure, I mean? How is this ‘control’ carried out exactly?”

“Mental and sometimes physical influence is used to ensure periodic cessation of a joining.”

“Will physical influence only be enough?”

“With a certain degree of probability, yes.”

“And… um… how often?”

“The duration of a standard joining cycle is twelve standard hours. Although, in this case I deem it necessary to shorten the period, introducing a break after every six hours.”

“Because you’re half human?”

“Because you are fully human, and as such, you possess a lesser physical strength, while you are more dependent on your physiological needs such as food and sleep...”

“It’s enough, I get it. So, this ‘control’ is a necessary condition of a… ‘joining’ of any unusual couple?”

“No. This necessity emerges only in relation with the joinings which are driven by the seven-year-old cycle, when plak tow deprives men of my race of control over their body and mind.”

The doctor couldn’t help noticing the symptoms of this “weakening of control” even on the screen. Spock was growing more restless, his hands clutched even more forcefully. Jim saw that as well - the Captain was speaking softer with his friend, limiting his gestures and  peering into the Vulcan’s eyes.

With the same soft voice Jim concluded without blinking an eye, “It’s enough talk for now, isn’t it?”

The Captain reached toward the selector button, and in sync with the sound of “Bones, we need you” the doctor rose from the armchair to meet his fate.

Stopping at the ward’s door, McCoy suddenly felt as if he were in an electrostatic field. There obviously was something between these two. Not only the deepest affection which couldn’t be overlooked, but something of an entirely different kind, held thoroughly contained for so long that the tension coiled in the air seemed enough to blow out the lights of the medical equipment.

The doctor’s ears and cheeks were suddenly flushed red. McCoy peered into the Captain’s face once more, taking in his expression to strengthen his failing resolve.

_As always, he prefers to control the situation, even if it means simply choosing the one to pass the control to. I’m in deep…_

Finally Jim turned his attention to the doctor. McCoy was silent, not intending to make it easier for Kirk. Honestly, he just wasn’t able to. Luckily, Jim was a fairly good face reader.

“So. What exactly have you heard?”

“Much more than I would ever want to! Damn, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a… - McCoy helplessly flailed his hands in the air, - a voyeur! How could I possibly deal with this Vulcan mumbo-jumbo?”

The answer was supplied by Spock. He barely opened his lips, and managed to keep his eyes on McCoy with a tremendous effort.

“You should not worry about the field where you lack competence, Doctor. The only thing which you will have to take care of due to professional duty is the physical state of the Captain. You should check said state once in six hours and interrupt the process when you deem it necessary, but not less often than once in twelve hours.”

“‘The process’ - isn’t that great! Are you sure it’s safe to stop such a ‘process’ by force? Won’t your circuits get shorted or something?”

“It, undoubtedly, will cause disagreeable sensations, but by far not as dangerous as a heart attack, a stroke, comatose state, severe physical exhaustion or serious blood loss due to trauma.”

“All of this can...”

“To determine possible consequences I advise you to refer to your physiological knowledge, which we’re forced to rely on.”

McCoy didn’t have the emotional resources left in him to get angry at the Vulcan’s completely undeserved aggressive insult. Spock’s state was obviously rapidly deteriorating. In fact, there wasn’t much time left to talk.

The Doctor met the eyes of his worried Captain.

“Yes. I’ll do… everything that is necessary. Jim, come with me, please.”

Before leaving the ward, Captain Kirk lightly squeezed the Vulcan’s shoulder, holding his stare.

“Close your eyes and… count sheep.”

“Which sheep and for what purpose?”

“Shhh. Just concentrate on a safe image and a simple action. I’ll be back soon.”

McCoy frowned.

In his office, the doctor threw himself into frantic activity, forcing the pointless contemplation to stop.

“Well, I’ll send away the medical crew who are due to work the following shifts here. And I’ll come up with something boring and convincing for the Bridge officers. Now, take your shirt off.”

“What’s that for?”

“Sensors. For each of you. Output of your heart activity, brain activity and other vitals straight to my screen.”

“Deal.”

“It’s clear as day he doesn’t have any STD’s. Due to my effort, neither have you. I’ll be here. I will… get you apart when it’s needed.”

“I hope you won’t have to do anything of the kind, we’re just being overly cautious. Bones, I have to calm him down, persuade him I’ll be safe. I’ll use the comm if something is needed. Well, I’ll set it up to react on a code phrase.”

“Set it up to react on a scream!”

The hypo shortly hissed something disapproving, Jim twitched, “Ow!”

“Ow?! It’s an analgesic. Do you have a slightest idea what you’re in for? You-u… you… have you ever slept… not with a woman?”

“Pfft. Bones, you’re a medic. How about calling things by their proper names? Have I ever had sex with a man? Yes.”

_Oh, please don’t tell me you were on the bottom as well!_

“What about a man twice as strong as you who, besides, has completely no control over himself?”

The Doctor abruptly shoved the bottle in the Captain’s hand.

“What is that?”

“You have ‘been with a man’ - make a guess!” _(So... lubricant with analgesic and warming effect, check.  An… enema… check. I’ll be damned, I’ll never forget this day…)_ Don’t be an idiot and prepare yourself in advance. You obviously aren’t in for any foreplay.

Wearing a crooked smile, Jim disappeared into a ward adjacent to Spock’s. In several minutes he was back, with a curve of lips even more strained.

“Get on with your sensors, Bones.”

Spock met them with a gloomy stare, which McCoy qualified to himself as half-mad.

“Five thousand, six hundred and two.”

“??”

“The sheep.”

“Oh. Galloping at full speed, aren’t they?”

Jim yanked the adjoining bunk to that of Commander and fastened them together. Meanwhile, the doctor asked Spock to take off his shirt. McCoy apprehensively touched the Vulcan’s searing hot skin, positioning the sensors. Every touch made Spock shudder, but his eyes were never on the doctor, seeing only Jim Kirk.

_I’ve had enough!_

McCoy dashed out of the ward with bullet speed, blurted out the command to close the door and turned off the comm. In an attempt to get rid of inappropriate thoughts he fixed his eyes on the vital function indicators. Those which belonged to the Vulcan were literally off the scale: blood pressure, temperature, pain level… although the brain activity was decreasing, moving to theta band.

_Wonderful._

In a couple of minutes Jim’s readings already spoke of intense physical exertion.

_I’m not thinking about it! No!_

In less than an hour, the readings spoke of something clearly unthinkable. The human and the Vulcan’s breathing pattern and heart rate were completely in sync. So was the brainwave activity, which was the most incredible of all. McCoy checked his equipment. No malfunctions.

_Damn, I didn’t have any doubt it’s a psychophysiological process. But this… Theta waves, delta waves. What for? Access to the unconscious mind? Self-healing?_

All the readings were higher than normal, but within the acceptable range for both the human and the Vulcan.

_Synchronization of neural oscillations… Such a degree of attunement… Unbelievable!_

When the timer ticked off two hours, McCoy’s nerves gave out. First the doctor found his resolve to turn on the comm. No sound came from the ward, a sign both reassuring and disquieting. McCoy glanced once more at the vitals. Still synchronized in the same way. With a fateful sigh, the doctor turned on the camera.

The image before him was more than worthy of what his imagination was conjuring up during these two endless hours.

Naked, closely intertwined… Spock was holding Jim from behind, firmly, and... seemed to be still inside him. Oddly enough, the view didn’t appear obscene, it was even… beautiful, like a sculpture or a painting.

_“The sleeping lovers”, damn it…_

Only this wasn’t sleep. The eyes of both “lovers” were open, but apparently not seeing this world. An almost narcotic happiness bloomed on Jim’s face. Spock, contrary to McCoy’s expectations, had hardly resembled a hellish creature. He looked surprised and uncharacteristically defenseless.

_Is that normal at all?_

The Vulcan stirred, moving inside Kirk, and an otherworldly quiet moan which escaped Jim divested McCoy of all his remnants of self-control. Unable to give a voice command, he hit the off button forcefully, bruising his hand.

_Once every six hours. Two days. I’ll go insane. I definitely will!_

Undoubtedly, the doctor still had a number of things on his to-do list. He had dismissed the medical crew, but getting rid of the patients wasn’t that easy, and the CMO had to attend to a couple of minor ailments. Of course, not before having isolated the “patients” in the ward properly.

There was one more thing on McCoy’s mind. Two test tubes with Spock’s green blood before and after the feat were signed “Dr. Jekyll” and “Mr. Hyde”. Pity there was no one to appreciate the joke. Neither the Vulcans as a race nor particularly Mr. Spock had authorized McCoy’s research, but the doctor couldn’t care less. The exhausting, literally madness-inducing and potentially deathly state was a sickness, and McCoy was going to put all his effort into developing a medicine which would at least alleviate the symptoms, in case preventing that state completely was not an option.

The readings on the screen, which the doctor used to follow the state of his “patients” from the corner of his eye, went through cyclic changes, indicating the phases of physical activity alternating with that inhuman “synchronized” trance. The following several hours became the longest in the life of doctor Leonard McCoy.

During the next “lull period” in the readings, the timer signal came.

Six hours…

The doctor sighed and filled the hypospray.

Glucose, an analgesic, a light muscle relaxant.

The questioning “Hey!” over the comm yielded no answer from the ward, and McCoy realized that he’ll have to fulfill his incautious promise literally. The one about “getting them apart”.  

The doctor apprehensively stepped in the realm of Vulcan madness.

...

McCoy scooped up the clothes scattered around in throes of passion into a more or less neat pile. The Captain’s shirt turned out to be ripped from the collar down.

_Well, at first - a blood sample. When he’s conscious, the damned Vulcan will resist, and I undoubtedly have a full right to this sample. After all, he’s my patient and I’m responsible for his state._

While getting his “sample”, the doctor, inwardly lecturing himself on professionalism and medical ethics, couldn’t keep from staring. The immediate, close-up view was absolutely unbearable for the already unstable psyche of the Enterprise CMO. The pointy-eared maniac pressed the Captain to him as if he wanted to fuse their bodies together for all eternity. Jim’s skin featured an abundance of bruises and whatnot.

_I’ll be damned… Enough is enough. That can’t go on for any longer. Time out!_

“Jim! Ji-i-im!! Mr. Spock! Spock, damn you! Hell!”

A couple of rude shoves and a stimulator shot didn’t bring out any reaction from Kirk. Touching Spock practically sent the doctor flying across the room. This wasn’t a physical sensation, but the impulse didn’t leave any room for interpretation.

_So, that’s it? Fine!_

Doctor McCoy threw a sheet over the tangled bodies, resolutely turned away and with an almost vengeful enjoyment moved to the locker with an assortment of cleaning supplies. To get the bucket.

Waking from transcendent dreams in a puddle of freezing cold water wasn’t by far an enjoyable experience. In a second, Jim went through a sequence of “happiness - horror - anger - understanding - incredibly strong discomfort” and stopped at that.

“Oh, fuck...”

McCoy, with his back expressing the whole specter of emotions currently possessing him, threw a couple of towels on the bed without turning.

“How you’re feeling? Any pain? Today’s stardate?”

The doctor heard Jim move and cough.

“Fine, just cold; tolerable; always had trouble remembering it. ...How much?..”

“Six hours. Food from the replicator? Shower?”

“What was that, then? We’ll manage the food, a bit later… thank you.”

“Right then… Mr. Spock? How you’re feeling - pain - stardate?”

“Temporarily going back to normal. Irrelevant. 3372.9.”

The doctor, demonstrating superior composure and professionalism, turned to his patients. Those qualities turned out to be highly necessary, as the wet sheet somehow aggravated the impression. Though, McCoy made sure of one essential thing. The Vulcan blinked dazedly, coming to his senses, and his voice sounded more muffled than usual, but the transformation was truly magical, the madness clearly didn’t possess the First Officer anymore.

The most important, even more so than the obvious signs of the Vulcan’s improvement, in McCoy’s consideration was this: Jim and Spock were looking each other in the eyes without a slightest hint of tension, paying almost no attention to the doctor himself.

_Not a loss. A discovery..._

McCoy relievedly grunted, “That’s it, ward round’s over. You’ll live.”

The doctor rushed out of the ward, thinking fleetingly why one can’t slam a sliding door.

Having faced the necessity of showering, remaking the bed and replicating the dinner Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock exchanged glances. Jim expressed his view on the problem quite straightforwardly - with a sigh of “to hell with this” he fell back onto a thoroughly soggy bed. Only after about five minutes Spock managed to convince him it was illogical.

In a while, the doctor left his post for several minutes to take a shower. Not a sonic, but a traditional water one. A very, very cold one.

_…_

Twelve hours.

The doctor, trying to keep his intervention to a minimum, turned the monitor on and off at once. The scene he inadvertently got a peek at somehow seemed even more intimate than everything he’d seen before. Though, Jim was just stroking the Vulcan’s hair, outlining the ear.

The screen went dim, but the sound was still on, and McCoy, as if spellbound by the captain’s soft voice, didn’t realize straight away he ought to turn that off as well.

“Do you know how I lost my virginity? At fifteen, with a school nurse… Sounds like a porn movie, doesn’t it? How would you know, though... She really was very sweet. I got to the medical room after a fight… it doesn’t matter over what. She treated my scratches, we talked a bit and I got excused from PE and after that… Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

The Vulcan’s voice was hoarse, “And after that?”

“Do you… really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“After that… she was wearing a short white gown, you know, a little bit too tight in the chest. We were just chatting, and then she undid the top button…”

Somewhere along the lines of the fifteen-year-old Jim facing the real man’s ordeal, namely, unfastening the bra, Spock flew off the handle: “How that can be… so simple?! Why, why?!.. How can that be… joyful?! No pain… no madness, no…”

Jim’s voice suddenly took on a Captainly tone: “Hey. This was simply an adventure for me as well as for her. The real… relationships are always way more complicated, and always bring both pain and joy. Every day, not once in seven years. The pain is most often not physical, but maybe you think that makes it easier?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Apologies are illogical, remember? Our relationship is real, and has always been that way. Will you let me share your pain? Yours and mine, Spock. Equal exchange. I’m sharing yours now, and in the future you’ll share my ‘human pain of a real relationship’. Would that be fair?”

“…Yes.”

“Is this a promise?”

“I… promise.”

Judging by the sounds that followed, it appeared pleasant to Jim and logical to Spock to seal the promise with action.

Pursing his lips, McCoy turned off the comm in silence and returned to the content of the Jekyll-Hyde test tubes. He urgently needed to occupy himself with work. Actually, with anything at all.

_…_

The timer signaled eighteen hours all of a sudden.

Vitals close to normal. Silence on the comm. Sleepy peacefulness on the screen.

_They even threw the blanket on._

McCoy determined to pay a visit into the ward, traditionally trusting his eyes and guts more than the equipment. His eyes supplied a picture of a sleeping Jim, holding the Vulcan’s hand in his. His guts hinted that his “patients” would use some sustenance, but this quite healthy-looking sleep was now not less useful than the food.

The doctor almost resolved to leave quietly when he noticed Spock looking at him.

“Mr. Spock. You… and Jim… are all right?”

“If by ‘all right’ you mean a state of normal well-being, then yes, Jim is ‘all right’, he simply requires sleep.”

“Don’t you as well?”

“In my current state I am not able to relax enough.”

“A liter of sleep aid?”

“No.”

“Anything else you need?”

It seemed Spock wanted to answer, but the silence drew on. Dr. McCoy knew his business. A few seconds of contemplation gave him an idea of what exactly the First Officer couldn’t dare to voice.

“I can prescribe you a sedative. A muscle relaxer, to aid normalization of blood flow.”

_A continuous pathological erection, which wouldn’t go away even after multiple acts of intercourse. An awful disease for a human is a regular ordeal for a Vulcan. Even the arrogant green-blooded hobgoblin doesn’t deserve that._

In a minute the settled silence was broken by a quiet hiss of a hypospray and even a more quiet “Thank you, Doctor”.

“Yes… and finally, get some sleep.”

Following his own advice, McCoy decided to catch up on sleep. It seemed to him a minute hardly passed before the timer signal woke him up. Actually, six hours of his “watch” flew by.

…

Twenty four hours…

The doctor checked his patients’ vital signs (which were close to those of a human and a Vulcan in a state of normal sleep), programmed the system to give a signal in case of unusual changes and fell asleep again. He would never tell anyone what he dreamt about.

…

Thirty hours…

The doctor risked paying a visit to the voluntarily confined “patients” - they both looked quite sane. At least they were fully clothed and tried to play chess. “Tried” because Jim, apparently not enthusiastic about the idea of sitting, was half-lying on the bunk. He kept one eye on the chess field and the other on his partner, who was maintaining a prim uptight posture on the chair, but making one imprudent move after the other.

As McCoy ventured into the ward, he at once realized that he overestimated the sanity of his patients. A chess piece whizzed by his ear with such a force that the doctor expected it to pierce the door.

_Or my head…_

Spock turned away, but Jim shrugged, “Relax, Bones, it’s not a murder attempt with the king as weapon. It’s a new trend in accepting defeat. So, dinner... supper… or whatever it is will come in handy right now, thank you.”

McCoy crashed the tray on the bedside table.

“I’ve ordered a couple of helpings for your First. There are always a lot of complaints that come in at the sickbay replicator. Though, in my opinion all that whining is a result of self-persuasion, a syndrome of ‘hospital food’. Do you agree these claims are illogical and subjective, Mr. Spock?”

Jim’s head shaking was barely noticeable, suggesting that chatting up Spock right now was not the best idea. McCoy already realized that himself. The Vulcan’s temperature went up again. He looked lost, gloomy, almost angry. McCoy had decided that a soup bowl was going to follow the king into the wall, but luckily Captain Kirk put a spoon into his First’s hand and he automatically started eating.

Jim gulped down his food in a minute and prodded McCoy for the ship’s news, waiting for the Vulcan to finish with his portion. Of course, when possible Kirk had followed the events over the intranet and skimmed the protocols of long-distance communications, but this couldn’t give a full picture of the ship’s life. Luckily the last day was nothing but routine - the way on Warp 4 to another science colony wasn’t brightened up by any incidents.

The doctor, of course, also spent most of the last hours in confinement, which he didn’t hesitate to mention to the Captain.

“I was forced to reschedule a dozen of physicals. I had to dismiss the crew for two days, offering them as an explanation a load of bullshit of a size from here to Vulcan. Meanwhile, I had to deal with a broken nose, an allergy and an unplanned pregnancy. Scotty is on pins and needles in your chair, desperately wanting to escape to his engines. Every time I get to talk to the bridge, Uhura asks about your well-being, and I’m tired of lying.”

“By the way, what is our diagnosis?”

“Denebian haemorrhagic fever.”

“Which manifests itself in…”

“Sudden fever, weakness, muscle pains and headaches, sore throat. Vomiting, diarrhea, rash, kidney and liver dysfunction, inner and outer bleeding. Low levels of white blood cells and thrombocytes, accompanied by high level of liver ferments. And it’s extremely contagious. … By the way, I’ll have to give you vaccine shots later, to provoke formation of antibodies for a credible story.”

“Well, thank you…”

As soon as Spock put away his plate, Captain Kirk turned all his attention to the Vulcan. The doctor watched with embarrassment as Jim, as if having forgotten completely about his presence, reassuringly hugged Spock’s shoulders, whispering something quietly in his ear.

_Jim left his post with a made-up excuse; he’s greatly risking his career. And mine. He practically forgets the Enterprise when the Vulcan needs him. Captain Kirk prefers his First to the ship! Will the hobgoblin realize how important it is, what it means? Though, Jim’s behavior is hard to interpret incorrectly._

Unable to resist any longer, the Vulcan clutched at Kirk as a drowning man.

“My mind to your mind…”

McCoy hurried to leave. It cost him a gigantic effort not to turn upon hearing the rip of the Captain’s shirt.

A sixth call from Nurse Chapel was waiting for McCoy in his office. She tried not to show her worry but sincerely wondered why McCoy dismissed her. Once more, having described the horrors of Denebian fever as convincingly as possible, McCoy explained he doesn’t risk catching it due to a timely inoculation. Luckily, his alibi was firm here; he really had this inoculation done. This wasn’t compulsory for Fleet personnel, but McCoy had little confidence in the universe as a whole and in alien planets in particular, so he tried his best to keep himself safe.

_And yet, I hate to lie like that! He owes me. A great deal._ _They both owe me._

_…_

Thirty six hours.

The readings went off the scale, especially the Vulcan ones. It’s not that McCoy didn’t understand what it means.

Sex.

He didn’t want to turn on the screen. Really, he didn’t. But surrendering to his rich imagination proved worse. It occurred to the doctor that, despite the stable readings, this very minute his “power of veto” might prove vital.

_They have absolutely no control over themselves. I promised I won’t allow them to suffer. I did!_

So, against his will, against all decency, McCoy turned on the screen.

The Vulcan moved violently, with such force that the doctor’s first urge was to intervene at once and stop it. But Jim turned his face, and his euphoria made the doctor reluctantly change his mind.

_Jim… Painkiller. Lots of painkiller. Healing the small fissures. Hope there are no tears. Now he doesn’t care, but when the arousal subsides…_

McCoy flinched.

_Spock. Painkiller too, muscle relaxant… I hope there’s no injury…_

_Oh, Mother of God…_

The doctor had turned off the screen long ago, but the frantic rhythm of the lovers’ movements was still echoing as blood flow in his ears, pulsing with pain in his temples.

_I need a drink. At least one. Or I’ll go insane…_

_…_

Forty-two hours.

Having again taken the agonizing decision to wake the “patients”, the doctor started with the Captain. “Water procedures”, surprisingly, were not necessary this time - Kirk woke from a light touch on a shoulder. By the way, the situation was much less piquant than the last time. Kirk gently extracted himself out of the Vulcan’s embrace, carefully covering him with a sheet, and discovered himself naked as the day he was born.

“Um…”

McCoy with an impenetrable facade, worthy of the Vulcan at his best, threw the captain a new set of clothes, logically supposing his shirt wasn’t good for anything anymore.

Jim thankfully nodded and stood up to drag himself to the toilet and the shower. His tense looks earned him another portion of analgesic.

While Kirk was away, McCoy was watching the Vulcan, not resolving to wake him. For the first time Spock seemed to the doctor… almost beautiful. His stark features softened. Lips a bit swollen. Disheveled hair.

_Human. Not human. How Jim sees him?_

Jim didn’t fail to appear, wiping his wet hair.

“How are things on the bridge?”

“It’s too boring; everyone’s been waiting for you. I bet when you appear something’s bound to happen.”

“Let’s hope this ‘something’ won’t happen too soon. I’m still… needed here.”

McCoy waved his hand.

“While you were...  actually, I was working. The mechanism of how the hobgoblins’ nervous system regulates the hormonal secretion is still one hell of a puzzle. I’ve separated the hormone that stimulates this horror, but I have yet to come up with a substance that can block its synthesis and secretion. I don’t know how safe and effective that’ll prove, but I hope I can at least alleviate the symptoms so next time your irreplaceable First won’t crash the ship into bits and pieces.”

“What about the precious Vulcan discretion?”

“What about it? It’s you who’s an officer and a diplomat, I’m a doctor and I vowed to mitigate the suffering. Even if the sufferers resist. Well, speaking of those, I prescribe you a full breakfast. The tray is on the table.”

Kirk noticeably livened up.

“Thanks a lot! This ‘hospital food’ really tastes like shit. Spock had disassembled the replicator but couldn’t find the reason – it’s nothing but standard components and software. He said it’s ‘illogical’. By the way, he wasn’t able to put it back together properly; he’ll do that when he’s fully back to himself again.”

McCoy, finally, reached toward the Vulcan to shake his shoulder, but Kirk moved away his hand.

“Don’t wake him up, he isn’t hungry.”

“Why did you decide so?”

“I just know this now, Bones. We were… are… and will be one.”

“Would you be so kind not to continue?”

Both looked around to check if they woke the object of their argument. The Vulcan continued sleeping and looked serene, which he very rarely did when awake and in control of himself.

Jim lowered his voice.

“I’m not talking about sex, Bones.”

“Actually, that’s what I am talking about.” McCoy passingly brushed the medical tricorder over the captain. “Jim, I won’t voice everything to you now, but do you imagine the consequences of such a ‘medical isolation?’”

“Ok, I won’t be able to sit tomorrow. I’ll come up with something. Perhaps head a landing party?”

“Not funny. Lie down and take off your pants.”

Jim’s face flushed with red stains.

“But… Well, I see.”

After almost two days of this… ordeal, putting a probe into your friend and Captain, fucked by his First Officer and friend, was easy as pie. Or so the doctor tried to persuade himself.

_That prim bastard… doing such things… a race gone mad… it’s beyond me!_

“That is all, put your clothes on. The healing has started. If the pain returns, tell me. I'll extend your medical leave for a day. So you could have some rest, not… Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, I get it… and, Bones, I… am so grateful to you. For your help. For him. And – I’m sorry for bothering you in vain. It seems we could have handled it by ourselves after all.”

McCoy’s eyelid nervously twitched.

“In vain? By yourselves? I poured cold water over you like cats in heat!”

“Well, you’re right. It felt as if I… was lost in him. You can’t imagine…”

“Nor would I ever want to!”

Kirk darkened.

“Doctor, I once again thank you for helping to save my first Officer’s life and for delicately handling this extraordinary situation…”

“Oh, stop that ‘thank you’ speech, would you? I am happy that this madness turned out for the better for you both.  Don’t tell him that, though.”

“He will find out anyway.” Jim touched his fingers to the sleeping Vulcan’s forehead, lightly but confidently, as if he now had a full right to it.

The doctor sighed, demonstratively turning away.

_No “as ifs”... they now belong to each other. Who’d have thought that a week ago? How it will turn out for them further... And for me?_

Despite the noisy confrontation above him, the Vulcan didn’t wake up. He might have lost too much energy or just didn’t see any reason for waking up, feeling safe. Or he could have consciously chosen to ignore this conversation, as he wasn’t yet fully fit for a verbal sparring with Dr. McCoy.

…

Forty-eight hours. It’s over.

The patients’ vital signs were practically back to normal.  A totally whacked but faithful to his word and mission Doctor McCoy flipped the comm toggle.

His reward for the longest duty shift in his life were the quiet voices with intonations of those hopelessly in love.

“Jim, why did you say that, ‘to die in one day?’”

“Um… when?”

“When you portrayed the only alternative to what happened.”

“Ah. It’s nothing… it’s how Earth tales usually come to an end. ‘They lived happily ever after and died in one day.’ Why are you asking?”

“This phrase is used in the bonding ritual. Of course, now that is not considered the only possible outcome, but the tradition is upheld.”

“Mmm… let me guess. It’s a traditional wish to the newly married couple. ‘Live long and prosper and die in one day’”.

“No, it is not a wish. It is pronounced in the course of bonding vows.”

“Oh.”

McCoy irritatedly turned off the comm.

_Romeo and Juliet, damn them._

The horrifying perspective of repeating this “duty” in seven, fourteen and-so-on years deprived the doctor of all the remaining energy and he concluded he had a full right to more sleep. In the dream that followed, Bones dragged a symbolically resisting Spock by his hand on the red carpet, past all the Enterprise crewmembers, and he, never ceasing to say “It’s illogical”, didn’t move his eyes from a radiant Jim Kirk waiting for him at the altar.


End file.
